This week on the podcast Angela Kinsey & Rainn Wilson reunite years after The Office to explore some of life’s biggest questions. The two talk about the recent deaths in their lives and how grief can breed gratitude. They also discuss finding true happiness, the power of mindfulness, and achieving a balanced work-life. Angela shares her unique insights on gratitude's role in personal success and the secrets to maintaining long-lasting friendships. Rainn and Angela also look back on their time on The Office and ponder what Dwight and Angela might be up to today at Schrute Farms, Dunder Mifflin and beyond.
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Rainn’s Dispatch from India
Death — what is it good for?
To gaze at a river made of time and water
And remember Time is another river.
To know we stray like a river
and our faces vanish like water.
To feel that waking is another dream
that dreams of not dreaming and that the death
we fear in our bones is the death
that every night we call a dream.
— Jorge Luis Borges, “The Art of Poetry”
Greetings from India! I may or may not be drafting these lines while pooping at a Tibetan Buddhist shrine in the north of this vast and glorious country. Why interrupt this amazing odyssey to write to you dear reader? Well given the powerful response to our Soul Boom podcast, it seemed like now is a good time to launch the official Soul Boom Substack and dive even deeper into life’s big mysteries.
In this week’s episode of the Soul Boom podcast, I was joined by my longtime friend and Office love interest Angela Kinsey. It’s wild that I’ve known Angela for 20 years and we’ve been a witness to so many big life events of one another.
One thing I don’t think either of us planned was the extent to which we talked about death and the shared experience of losing loved ones. That opportunity to share our grief with each other—and now with you—was very special.
To be honest, death is something I have long thought about, but especially after my father passed it became a recurring theme in my consciousness. The strange thing is, even though it’s our inevitable end, even though you and me and everyone we know will one day die, we avoid the subject as though we were avoiding… well… death itself.
But like it or not, it’s coming, so we might as well make some sense of it. That's why I wrote a whole chapter on the subject in my book Soul Boom. While I’m not going to regurgitate everything in that chapter, this seems like a good opportunity to revisit some of those themes.
One of those themes? The transition from one stage of existence to the next. When ‘Abdu’l-Bahá was asked “How should one look forward to death?” he answered: “How does one look forward to the goal of any journey? With hope and with expectation.”
We might ask how to cultivate that hope and expectation. Not any suicidal ideations mind you—that’s something to seek help for should those thoughts arise. What I’m asking is: How can we joyfully prepare for that trip, that is after all inevitable?
I think we find a clue in the Sioux saying: “Today is a good day to die.”
Hearing that phrase out of context might sound like something a brave but outnumbered warrior might cry out as he gallops off to perish in a blaze of glory. But I take it as something much quieter. Much humbler. As I understand it, this pithy phrase is meant to bring us back to the present day and moment we are living in. It’s a way to bring ourselves to account and ask: am I ready to die? Have I cleaned up my messes? Am I in gratitude for this one wild and precious life that I have been gifted?
Steve Jobs conveyed this stoic wisdom well:
“Remembering that I'll be dead soon is the most important tool I've ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life.
Almost everything--all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure--these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.
Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.
No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet, death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it, and that is how it should be, because death is very likely the single best invention of life. It's life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new.”
We are all dying of something, some sooner than others. Shakespeare, through the character of old Capulet in Romeo and Juliet, said, “Well, we were born to die.”
If we accept that indeed we are born to die, perhaps we can also think of death as another kind of birth.
There’s a metaphor about twins in the womb having a conversation. One says, “I can’t wait to get out of here! What adventures await!” The other disagrees, fearing the chaos outside. Isn’t this like our approach to life?
The Bahá'í teachings offer a spiritual metaphor that this world is like the womb of our mother. The fetus floats about obliviously, unaware that the limbs it's growing are for the realm beyond its current uterine world. Similarly, we are here to grow spiritually for whatever lies beyond this life.
This world is a time of spiritual gestation, the purpose of which is to nurture our spiritual essence—that is our spiritual virtues.
If the idea of “spiritual virtues” doesn’t quite land, then imagine a person you love, whether living or dead. What are the qualities they embody? What are those inner virtues that make them so special? Are they kind? Truthful? Generous? Faithful? Hardworking? Joyful? Those are spiritual virtues, friend. And when our bodies die and our soul lives on, those powers of the soul are all we’re taking with us.
Of course, even with this outlook, when our loved ones pass on, we will inevitably weep and be filled with grief. How could that not be the case? We loved them and now they are gone. Of course we miss them. Yet even our grief can offer a lesson, teaching us, as Angela points out in our pod, that everyone grieves differently, and that’s OK.
In August it will be the four year anniversary of my father’s passing. I miss him every day but know that we will meet again soon. And does that scare me? Maybe a little. But mostly, it’s a trip I look forward to.
Click here for a list of grief and bereavement support groups and resources.
If you’re thinking about suicide, are worried about a friend or loved one, or would like emotional support, the 988 Lifeline network is available 24/7 across the United States.
Guest Essay: “Death and Rebirth” by Susie Pak
It has been 13 years since my husband passed away, but the impact of it is still profound and immense.
His death shook my very existence. It felt as if everything that symbolized who I was had crumbled and died with him. And I had to be reborn.
The process was incredibly difficult and painful. However, I never blamed the situation or thought of it as misfortune.
Instead, there was this inexplicable belief that such a tremendous tragedy would ultimately lead to my greater growth.
Why is that? I still do not know.
When my husband was diagnosed with a terminal illness, there was a clamor around me that I needed to believe in God. Death was so frightening that I couldn't even bring myself to go near the hospital while he was receiving cancer treatment. Yet, in a desperate grasp for straws, neither my husband nor I felt the need for religion. However, oddly at the same time, I felt a deepening connection between myself and any spiritual entity of another real me in the universe.
I do not cry daily over my husband's death, but the indescribable void makes it hard to do anything but barely function throughout the day. Yet, as I view this situation as part of someone's greater plan, I increasingly see it as a hidden gift.
I feel like I have been reborn and am experiencing the pain of growth, which I have started to document through my paintings.
I consider each of my paintings a self-portrait, regardless of the title.
My paintings are still spontaneous and childlike in expression.
Yet, I see something indescribably spiritual in them, something that I wouldn’t have been able to express before facing death.
It feels like my essence and I are becoming closer, a unique gift I think I wouldn't have if I hadn't experienced death.
Even 13 years later, I sometimes wake from dreams of my husband and cry in the mornings. However, it is not bitter.
Five days ago, my father passed away.
The same process repeated itself. Over the years, my father suffered a lot, and I cried out of pity for him.
But strangely, this time my heart feels calm.
Without religion, I do not believe in an afterlife, but somehow, I imagine that my father still exists in some form, perhaps as cosmic dust in a small universe, or sometimes as a planet, a fish in the sea, a musical note, wandering from the desert where the Little Prince is, to his star.
Perhaps this thought, which I occasionally depict in my paintings, brings me peace?
Just the other day, we buried my father in our family’s burial plot here in Seoul, South Korea. Next to it, on my grandfather’s grave, there was a single purple wildflower blooming.
I felt grateful. Surely it was a sign: my grandfather welcoming his son home.
Susie Pak is a Korean-American artist residing in Echo Park, Los Angeles, represented by Agency Arts. Follow her art at @susiethatartist.
RECOMMENDATION CORNER
If you're dealing with the heavy emotional toll of having a loved one nearing the end of their life, The Four Things That Matter Most: A Book About Living by Ira Byock, M.D., is a must-read. This book dives deep into the heart of human connection and offers a transformative approach to healing and reconciliation.
Drawing on his decades of experience working with patients and their families in hospice and palliative care, Byock came to the conclusion that four simple phrases have the potential to bring healing and closure to relationships: "Please forgive me," "I forgive you," "Thank you," and "I love you." These words, Byock suggests, when offered at the right time and place, open a path to deepening connections and finding peace during life's most difficult of transitions.
Each one encapsulates essential aspects of emotional healing, compassion, gratitude, and love that are fundamental to our well-being and the quality of our connections with others.These aren't just words; they're powerful tools that can deepen connections and bring peace, even in the hardest times.
So, why are these phrases so important?
"Please forgive me" is about owning up to our mistakes and seeking healing. It's a humble and vulnerable act that opens the door to reconciliation.
"I forgive you" is equally powerful, letting go of resentment and emotional baggage to make room for compassion and healing.
"Thank you" is all about gratitude, acknowledging the kindness and support of others. Gratitude isn't just polite; it's a mindset that can boost happiness and strengthen relationships.
And "I love you"? Well, that's the ultimate affirmation of care and connection. Love is the cornerstone of meaningful relationships, and expressing it openly fosters trust, intimacy, and mutual respect.
Byock’s book draws together countless real-life stories that show the transformative power of these four phrases, especially in the context of end-of-life care and relationships. These stories are a powerful reminder of the healing and connection that can come from forgiveness, gratitude, and love, offering comfort and inspiration to those navigating their last days together.
While you may find yourself shedding some tears as you read it, the book is also very practical. Byrock isn’t just offering inspiring stories and grand ideas. He also offers concrete advice on how to use these four key phrases in conversations with a loved one nearing the end of their life. This actionable wisdom can help facilitate meaningful communication, reconciliation, and healing, allowing families to come together in love and support during this difficult time.
A compassionate and transformative read, The Four Things That Matter Most offers invaluable guidance for those facing the end of a loved one's life. Whether you're looking to deepen your connection, find closure, or navigate the emotional complexities of end-of-life care, this book offers timeless wisdom and practical tools to support you on this sensitive and sacred journey.
